


Portents

by Pyreite



Series: Conversations with Adaar [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Avvar, Avvar Culture and Customs, Avvar Pantheon, Betrayal, Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 09:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9650231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyreite/pseuds/Pyreite
Summary: [DAI - Post Trespasser DLC] Adaar is grieving for the Iron Bull's death, after he betrayed her for the Qunari forces led by the Viddasala.  She is helped through her grief by a visitor sent by the Lady of the Skies.  [Prelude to - Live in the Moment]





	

Amund saw her after the Exalted Council. Her clothes were torn, dusty, and flecked with blood. Her face was slashed and bruised. Her skin was more purple than grey. An ugly new scar ran from her cheek to her chin.

Adaar didn't seem to mind, though there was a weariness in how she walked. She didn't stride with her usual confidence. Her steps weren't bold, but slow and half-hearted. Her feet dragged and her gauntleted arms hung stiff as stone at her sides. Amund was reminded of the half-rotted corpses that had risen from the Fallowmire.

Adaar had none of her usual feline grace. She shuffled along like one of the undead. Her eyes were unseeing as the crowds parted. Men and women in robes and armour bearing the Inquisition's all-seeing eye called her name. Adaar did not hear them.

She was deaf and blind to the whispers of the Orlesian gentry lining the streets. Myriad pairs of eyes watched her from behind gaudy leather masks. Amund heard them twitter like birds in their strand low-lander language. Fingers gloved in white silk pointed. Gaudy robes trimmed in gold and silver rustled as slippered and booted feet moved out of Adaar's way.

Everyone saw her scarred and bruised face, though none dared to hinder her passage. Amund wondered if it was the purpling skin or the raw red scar that made the crowd pause and stare. Adaar was a frightening sight with her grey skin and long dragon-like horns. Amund saw her face when she passed within a yard of him. The Orlesians gasped in dismay when her clawed fingers raked the golden thigh of a giant brass lion.

The symbol of the Orlesian crown was one of four statues guarding the corners of a fountain.

Adaar slumped against the lion. She seemed tired and unaware of the stir she was causing. She sucked in a shaky shallow breath as she tried to regain her composure. She froze still as a startled fawn when she realised she was being watched. She ignored the crowd and glanced across the square.

Amund pitied her when he saw her watery red-rimmed eyes. Her grey cheeks were slick with moisture. Tears clung to her lashes in glistening dewdrops. One beaded on the tip of her nose for several long seconds until it fell. More dribbled from her lips in a seemingly endless tide.

Adaar's eyes widened as if in surprise. Her brows arched into her hairline. Her face turned ashen, colour leeching from her already grey skin, until she was a pale off-white. Amund might have thought she'd taken ill if he hadn't known better. He had seen that lost look on many a face during his duties as the Skywatcher of his clan.

Only those grieving for the dead were so miserable.

Amund didn't understand the spectacle Adaar was making of herself. Many in the crowd seemed uncomfortable looking at her. Some Orlesians hid their masked faces behind silk fans and handkerchiefs. Others muttered about propriety in hushed disapproving tones. The soldiers from the Inquisition began to usher the onlookers away.

No one dared approach Adaar, from Orlais or the Inquisition, but they did walk away from her in droves.

Amund was puzzled by their hesitance. Several Inquisition scouts saw her in clear distress though none of them offered her a kind word. The longer he watched, the harder Adaar wept, and the more she was snubbed by her own followers. Amund was perturbed by their lack of compassion. His own people were mulish and stubborn, but no Avvar was so hard-hearted.

Amund shook his head in disgust. He shouldered his warhammer despite the worried looks from some Inquisition soldiers. He strode across the square, purpose in every step. The crowd had thinned. Only he, Adaar, and the rank and file of her personal guard remained behind.

Her followers were like shepherds as they herded the last dawdling onlookers away.

Amund stopped before Adaar. She was in his shadow when she peered up at him. It was strange to see her so distraught. Her face was wet and her eyes watery. A thin glob of snot leaked out one nostril.

"First-Thaw", said Amund. "You should not be alone in your grief".

Adaar's lower-lip wobbled when he swung the warhammer from his shoulder. An Inquisition soldier, believing the gesture an attack, bellowed for help. Amund dismissed him as he set the hammer beside Adaar. He saw how she tensed when the iron-head, wrought in the shape of a bear, clanged against the gleaming brass. The hammer lay between two leonine paws.

A group of Inquisition soldiers approached.

Amund ignored their posturing. A few were men, but some were boys. He had little patience for green cockerels in shiny silver-plated armour. The Inquisition symbol emblazoned across their chests seemed to watch him with suspicion. The open unblinking eye with lashes like rays of sunlight reminded Amund of the Lady of the Skies.

She saw all things beneath the heavens too.

"First-Thaw", called Amund. "When last we met. You didn't have dogs at your heel".

An Inquisition soldier swore. The pup beside him growled.

Adaar wiped a wet grey-skinned hand across her face. The snot smeared across the back of her vambrace. Amund was impressed by her sense of self-control. Her voice was steadier than he expected when she barked an order. Her soldiers were like a pack of loyal hounds.

They stopped walking and stood still as stone.

"Leave us!"

"But your, Worship!" protested a stubborn pup.

Adaar bared her teeth and hissed. " _Now_! _Return to your duties_!"

Amund heard their mutterings. Some cursed, others scowled, and like dogs they slunk off to sulk in a dark corner and gnaw on a bone. They didn't like the company their Inquisitor kept. Amund didn't like them either. Lowlanders were a strange folk, full of odd notions, and odder opinions.

Not unlike the woman before him.

Her skin was ash-grey. Her hair the colour of blood. She had the pointed ears of an elf and the bony horns of a dragon. Amund might have thought her a demon if not for her eyes. His breath caught in his throat when she gazed at him.

Her eyes were the deep violet of amethysts.

Amund's heart beat against his ribs like a drum. He exhaled a shaky breath. He had found her interesting, but never beautiful. Until now. He quashed that infuriating fluttery feeling of attraction roiling in his stomach.

It hurt to think that the Lady of the Skies would tempt him so. Adaar was grieving. It was unseemly to want a widowed woman so soon after her lover had died. Amund had seen the Qunari to whom Adaar had pledged herself. He'd also heard the news as had all Orlais.

The Iron Bull had betrayed Adaar and sided with his brethren.

He was dead by his lover's own hand.

"I'm sorry", apologised Adaar. Her voice cracked and she sobbed. "Maker's breath. I'm sorry".

"For what?" asked Amund, though he understood her misery. It was always painful when someone you loved died. "From what I recall. You've never wronged me and mine. Though I can see you cry for someone".

Adaar sniffled, and was silent.

"Name him, First-Thaw", urged Amund. "The healing will come easier if you do".

Adaar bowed her head in shame. Her breath hitched and her shoulders shook. Her pain ran bone-deep. Amund might have thought her broken in spirit if he hadn't heard her whisper a name. It was exhaled on a breath laden with guilt.

"The Iron Bull".

Adaar trembled as the tears flowed anew.

Amund gave her a few moments to gather the broken pieces of her heart. His silence, a vigil often held over the dead, seemed to give Adaar strength. She still wept, but the tide of her grief lessened. Fewer tears were shed. She was calming as she took several deep soul-shuddering breaths.

"Have you a token of him?", coaxed Amund.

Adaar nodded.

Amund felt certain the Lady of the Skies would approve.

She had sent him to Orlais after all.

"I know nothing of Qunari gods", he told Adaar. "I have only my own. If you would part with your lover's token, First-Thaw. I can make an offering of it to the Lady of the Skies in place of the Iron Bull's bones. She may yet guide his soul to where it would rest peacefully in the other world".

Adaar hiccuped. "Why would you do that? You didn't know him".

"Lest you forget", said Amund. "You were named kin by Svarah Sun-Hair. You belong to Stone-Bear Hold. It is on her behalf that I am here. The Thane cannot comfort a grieving daughter of her clan when she is far away in the Frostback Mountains".

Adaar frowned. "Svarah sent you?"

"No".

"Then who?"

Amund gestured to the heavens overhead. The clouds rolled across a sky-blue sea.

"The Mother of all Avvar".

Adaar gazed skyward too. She shivered when the breeze picked up. Amund heard her gasp when a handful of green leaves flew across her face. He was unsurprised when Adaar looked down and found a single ice-blue flower in her lap. He watched her touch the petals with a reverence only an Avvar could understand.

"The Lady of the Skies and her son send their thanks".

Adaar looked to Amund for an explanation.

"You broke his jaws".

Her violet eyes widened. "Hakkon Wintersbreath".

Amund nodded and offered her his hand gloved in blue leather.

"You should not be alone in your grief, First-Thaw".

Adaar was hesitant to reach for him. "Why are you in Orlais, Skywatcher?"

So she did remember him.

Amund was pleased.

"I am here for you".

"Why?"

He smiled. "The Lady knew you'd need comforting. So here I am".

Adaar took his hand then and was helped to her feet. The blue flower slid from her lap into the fountain. It bobbed on the surface of the water as tiny icy crystals formed underneath its petals. Adaar was pulled into the circle of Amund's arms when the fountain froze over. The priest of the Lady of the Skies watched as the four brass lions guarding the fountain were kissed by frost.

Adaar heard the myriad cries of astonishment.

She turned in Amund's arms and gaped at what her ice-blue rose had done.

The waters of the fountain were hard, white, and wintry.

"Maker's breath!"

The brass lions were covered from nose to tail in a fine layer of silver-white ice.

The statues glittered in the sun like diamonds.

"It's beautiful", whispered Adaar.

Amund heard the awe in her voice.

"What does it mean?"

"It's a sign of gratitude", explained Amund. "And of intent".

Adaar stilled when he wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"Intent?"

He nodded gravely as he looked into her eyes. "Indeed, First-Thaw. You've earned the respect of Korth's firstborn son. And his mother's favour. You'd best be careful from this point onwards".

Adaar stared at him. "Why?"

"All Avvar know nothing is permanent", said Amund. "Your lover is dead and you've a right to mourn him. But your sadness will not last forever. In time you will again be ready to be courted. It is for this and for you that Hakkon Wintersbreath will wait".

Adaar bit her lip. She was unsurprised by his admission. The Augur from Stone-Bear Hold had told her as much too. She remembered the taste of his dry chapped lips. One kiss had conveyed all the Avvar god of winter and warfare felt for her.

"How persistent will he be?"

"Very", warned Amund. "You'd best beware. Hakkon will not be satisfied until he had wooed and won you. He is Avvar to his heart, but it is permanence he seeks. Gods after all do not wither and die as mortals do".

"Permanence", repeated Adaar. "You make it sound as if he intends to make me his wife".

Amund stroked her cheek with a gloved forefinger.

"He does".

Adaar gasped.

Amund nodded.

"You are the time when the ice breaks and gives new life to the world. The first thaw that heralds the coming of spring. You are a match for Hakkon Wintersbreath in name and nature. For this reason and more he will seek you out. And in time perhaps my people will pray to a new goddess".

Amund nodded to the single blue rose in the heart of the frozen fountain.

Adaar glanced at it with anxiety.

"And perhaps her crown will be a ring of blue roses rather than a circlet of silver and gold".


End file.
